


A

by sarahgene12



Category: The Singer Not the Song (1961)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Priest Kink, Threesome - F/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 17:36:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8111314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahgene12/pseuds/sarahgene12
Summary: Ever since the priest arrived in Quantana, Anacleto has been hellbent on breaking him. He's tried the usual tactics, to no avail. He knows the priest has a weakness for the beautiful young Locha. Once upon a time, Locha had a weakness for Anacleto. And The Bad One is very good at getting what he wants.





	

"You understand what you are to do then, my pet? I trust you do know how all of this works?"

Young Locha tugged the ribbon from her thick blonde hair, shaking her head and letting it all fall around her pretty, pale face. Her dark eyes held Anacleto's in a terrible chokehold; she challenged him even while agreeing to his plan.

But Anacleto was not afraid of her. She was, after all, little more than a child at nineteen. She tried desperately to look fearsome, only managing to remind him of a cross little bird. He told her as such, reveling in her girlish humiliation.

"Even so, he will find you appealing, and that's what we want. No doubt you will have to do most of the work. Tell me-" he crooned, crooking one leather-clad finger under Locha's smart little chin-"Are you a virgin, my sweet?"

The young girl smoothed the fabric of her blouse over her breasts without breaking the bandit's gaze. "No, I am not. But what does that matter? It will not matter to him." She paused, still watching him carefully. "I still don't know why you want me to do this. What good can it possibly do for you?" Suddenly she looked sly, and Anacleto was momentarily disarmed. "If you want him so badly yourself, why use me as the seducer and not you? Surely if I can make him forget his church, it would be easy work for you?"

Anacleto's mouth dropped open in lecherous surprise, and not entirely legitimate shock. "Why Locha, you naughty, naughty girl! What makes you think I would be interested in bedding a priest? They're such unimaginative creatures, it'd be so boring! Like filling a car with petrol!"

That threw Locha into a fit of scandalized giggles, and she swatted playfully at Anacleto's arm; the bandit could hardly discern whether she was putting herself into character already or not; he could not read her eyes as well as he could the priest's.

"Never mind all that anyway, I shan't be there. Not at first. I want him good and debauched before I can even think of showing my face in that office. I might bide my time and unlock all his doors, while I wait. It would do very nicely to have the one holy man in this town discovered by an unsuspecting layperson wearing nothing but his Roman collar."

Locha looked devilish. "Oh, what fun that would be! But does it detach from the shirt? I thought it was sewn on!" And she shrieked at her own joke.

Anacleto laughed wickedly and kissed the girl's beguiling little nose. "We shall soon find out, little one. Don't you fret."

*******

Father Keogh sighed heavily, and drew his hand across his eyes. It was two in the morning exactly, by the clock on the wall. The week's sermon was finished, and very nearly so was Quantana's priest.

He rose from his chair just as the first, timid little knock came at his door.

"Yes? Who is it?"

Silence. Father Keogh rolled his head on his shoulders, trying to rid his neck of the crick which had developed in the hours he'd been writing. Moments later, a second knock disturbed the atramentous quiet.

"The door is open, you may come in if you like," called the priest. The door opened, and Locha crept around the edge of it, pale but somehow radiant, her hair loose and her feet bare, her body draped only in a thin, white cotton nightdress.

"I hope I am not disturbing you? I saw your light was on and thought you might be up."

Father Keogh clasped his hands behind his back. "Locha! What on earth are you doing out at this time of night? You'll catch your death!"

Locha stepped fully into the room. She caught the door just before it closed with her hand, and pushed it until it stayed ajar. As she'd been instructed. Then she smiled softly at the priest.

"I'm alright. The night is warm enough, and the walk is not long. Can you not sleep?"

It did not escape Father Keogh's notice that, as she spoke, she pulled the little string of her nightgown, releasing the neat bow and opening the gown at her throat. The fabric parted just enough now to expose Locha's deeply tanned skin down to the shadow between her breasts.

She did this so casually, wrapping her finger around the dangling string, that he wanted to believe it had been an accident.

The priest stared pointedly at the girl's chin as he replied, "Perhaps not, I haven't tried yet. I've been so busy I'm afraid I haven't had any time to prepare my sermon." He indicated the chair beside his desk. "Won't you sit?"

Locha took the offered seat, lifting the hem of her nightdress over her knees so she could cross her legs. What little Father Keogh glimpsed of her thigh was browned, the color of honey like the back of her neck- like the rest of her, he supposed, before quickly banishing the thought.

She had caught him looking, and her heart gave a frightful leap. How far would she be required to go before Malo arrived, she wondered? What if he didn't turn up, and this was his way of tricking her into making a fool of herself?

The priest turned his back on her for just a moment to stow something away in the desk, and her eyes jumped to the back of his neck. There she saw four little ivory buttons, indeed keeping the Roman collar clasped in its place. Locha felt her cheeks burn.

"If I am disturbing you, I can leave," she said, her fingers playing nervously again with the string of her gown.

Father Keogh cleared his throat, sitting down in the other chair. Then he smiled kindly. "Nonsense, you're perfectly welcome. Is something troubling you, my dear?"

Locha suddenly froze. She had very clearly heard the front door of the priest's quarters open and shut. No footsteps, but then Anacleto had a knack for moving so quietly about that one could not even detect his boot heels on a marble floor, in a perfectly silent room. It was one of the many traits he shared with his number of feline companions.

"Locha?" The priest was frowning.

The girl closed her eyes for a moment, took a deep breath, and renounced herself to whatever she had to do to this man; this she feared less than what Malo might do if she refused.

"Are you quite alright, my dear? Have you caught a chill?" Father Keogh reached out and laid a warm hand on her knee. Locha started at the touch, but plastered a smile onto her face, one she hoped looked perfectly benign.

"Yes, I am alright. But, if it would not be too much trouble, I wonder if we could have a cup of tea? I am a bit cold, and my throat is a little, how do you say? I have a scratch."

Father Keogh chuckled, and his face was so kind that she very nearly redacted her words. "Certainly. I think Chela has gone to bed, but I can fetch it for us. You should rest." He patted her knee again as he stood. "One sugar or two?"

"Three, please."

"Very good. I'll just be a moment!"

The moment the door fell closed behind the priest, Locha rose from her chair. She thought if she hesitated another moment she would simply run away, and push the consequences!

She bent at the waist and took the hem of her nightdress between her fingers. Then, listening carefully to the cheerfully domestic sounds of the priest preparing tea, she pulled it up over her head, and let it fall to the floor.

*******

 

It took several minutes for Father Keogh to fix their tea. Unbeknownst to the priest, he did not do so unobserved.

There was a window high over the sink in the little kitchen, and in the black of night Anacleto watched these mundane proceedings with utter fascination. He found it completely enthralling how Father Keogh handled the porcelain sugar pot and cream pitcher, carrying them almost magically on the tips of his fingers. They were breakable, of course, but not worth the care he took with them, as if he were handling rare crystal. Fascinating.

When the priest had placed everything together (carefully) on a tray, the bandit rose from his clandestine post, hurrying back to the front door, which he'd left ajar for himself, as Locha supposedly did with the door to the study. The moment he arrived there, he heard a tremendous crash.

Malo grinned.

*******

"Locha! What on earth-?!"

Father Keogh averted his eyes as quickly as he could, but he had seen her, if only in the split second before the tea tray crashed to the floor. He turned his back on her then, his face ruddy with shock and embarrassment, his hands trembling. He tried to focus on gathering the pieces of the cups together without cutting himself on the shards, tried to concentrate on how the hot liquid burned his skin, but he gave up just a minute later when he realized his efforts were futile.

Still, he could not face her. "Why would you do such a thing? Don't you realize what you've done? I am not permitted-I do not-why are you naked, Locha?"

The girl was also shaking, though secretly pleased with herself. "You have never seen a woman, have you Father? At least not in the way I have shown myself to you?"

She stepped closer to him, until there was only a foot of space between them. "Please look at me, Father. "

"It is forbidden." The priest had not moved, though he knelt in a puddle of cooling tea.

Locha placed both of her hands on top of Father Keogh's head, burying her fingers in his hair. When she began to knead his scalp with her thumbs, she thought she heard him sigh, very quietly.

"It is a very silly thing to forbid, I think. There are many worse things a man can do than see a woman without her clothes on. He can lie, cheat, gamble, drink, or commit murder, and aren't these things much, much worse than making love?"

She had lowered her voice, and with it, her hands, working her palms into the tense flesh of his shoulders now. She could feel the heat of him even through the layers of his cassock, and secretly her heart was thrilled.

Locha thought the priest was unconsciously leaning back into her touch, was almost certain he was, and while she listened to his breathing, she bent forward to whisper into his ear.

"Why don't you take off that silly cassock? You must be steaming in so much black! It is summer!"

He didn't do anything until she planted a quick kiss on the top of his ear, and he jumped, gasping.

Locha giggled. "Sorry! But please, for me?" She waited, pressing one hand to her chest, in order to feel her heart. When Father Keogh rose to his feet, apparently undoing the buttons of his cassock, she actually clapped her hands with excitement, and she had an overwhelming urge to run quickly and lock both of the doors to keep Malo from getting in.

He still did not face her, but allowed her to help him out of the long outer robe once all the buttons (she counted them; there were thirty!) had been freed. She was slightly disappointed to discover that he still wore a shirt and trousers underneath, also black. At least now she knew she could save the collar for the last.

"Please, Michael, won't you face me? It's alright, really."

The priest did not turn, but did ask with a note of surprise: "How do you know my name? I haven't told anyone." His voice was unsteady.

"Why, Malo told me of course. He said you told him once, when you were still trying to gain his trust. He thought he might be able to use that against you, since the layer people are not supposed to know it."

Now he did turn around, eyes fixed purposefully on Locha's, and nowhere else. She was glad to see he was at least smiling, however fretfully.

"I think you mean laypeople. That's what the Church calls those who do not work for her."

Locha reached up and quickly undid the first three buttons of Father Keogh's shirt. His smile faded until it was almost gone, but he still did nothing while she freed the rest of them, and moved her hand from her chest to his. The priest flinched when she ran a pale hand over his thrumming heart, pinching tender flesh between two knuckles. Helplessly, he gasped, frightened by how his body was responding to the girl twisting the slowly hardening skin between her fingers. He gripped her shoulders with both hands, intending to push her away-but then she lowered her head and nipped the little brown nub, and Father Keogh very nearly blasphemed at the shot of pleasure which this sent through his body. He did cry out, and in the moment before he could think again Locha knelt before him.

"Oh, no, Locha please, I cannot permit you to do this! I am a man of God!"

But the girl persisted, expertly working his belt from his trousers and tossing it away. She had a devilish look about her now, and with one hand on his belly she pushed him back, until his shoulders hit the wall. She knew if she stopped now she would realize what she was doing and fear would freeze her.

Father Keogh struggled to push her away as she eliminated the problem of both the button and the zipper, grabbing ahold of her hair in handfuls and tugging, wanting almost to apologize.

To his astonishment, his actions caused Locha to shriek gleefully, a sound he'd never heard her make. And quite suddenly she had him, tugging his trousers down off of his hips and-most outrageously, he thought, feeling so breathless he thought he might faint- kissing the front of his linen breeches.

Somewhat involuntarily, Father Keogh's body jerked at her intimate touch, and he felt the beginnings of a sensation which he had been taught since childhood was expressly forbidden by the Church.

"Locha-Locha please, I cannot let you do this! I belong to the Church, and you-you are engaged to be married! I-"

His plea was choked off by a sound much like a sob when Locha very abruptly took him in her hand and squeezed, very gently. His knees buckled, and his hands twisted tighter in her hair.

Without waiting a single moment more, Locha parted her lips, and sucked mercilessly at the tip of the priest's cock. Father Keogh ceased his tugging on the girl's hair and used his hands to support himself against the wall, his eyes squeezed shut, his mouth dropped open and spraying spit with every ragged breath. He didn't dare curse, though he thought he might if this went on much longer. Oh the things he did not know! That he was forbidden from knowing!

Locha ran her tongue along the underside of her priest's swollen cock, leaning her head forward until she had all of him, thrilling at the feel of him twitching in her mouth, at the sound of this holy man moaning in the most unholy way. One of his hands found the back of her head again and gripped her hair hard enough this time that it did actually hurt a little; she hummed happily at the sensation, and Father Keogh's hips bucked, and he was gasping.

Suddenly, Locha had an idea. She released the priest from her lips with a loud, wet pop and stood up, crossing the room to the door, which stood ajar. Behind her, she could hear Father Keogh breathing slow, shaky breaths, and thought she heard him whispering. Was he really praying? She marveled. Then she closed the door, and twisted the lock. She crossed the room to the other door, and did the same, feeling a wretched swell of triumph, and not a little sensation of fear.

Father Keogh had barely managed to keep himself standing upright. He was slumped against the wall, hair matted with sweat, hands outstretched before him as if he were warding away an attacker. When he opened his eyes and saw her, he tried to cover himself, flushed scarlet with shame.

But Locha shook her head, smiling softly, her head reeling at the force coursing through her own, naked body. She indicated the chair pulled away from the desk. "Sit, Father. It will be easier for you."

Half-naked, he obeyed her, walking unsteadily to his desk and the chair, where he sat, trembling. His cock was fully erect now, and Locha knelt again and kissed it, and began to work her hand up and down the shaft. Father Keogh made a sound like a strangled man. His eyes grew wide and ferociously blue, and to both of their surprise he reached out suddenly and cupped her breast.

Goosebumps rippled across Locha's skin when he touched her, and her own breath faltered. She squeezed him too hard and it was almost too much for the priest; the chair's legs rocked back and slammed the floor once, twice; Michael surrendered just a little of his self-possession and hissed "Christ."

Just outside the door, Anacleto was crouched and listening. He could hear the priest making those sounds, mere feet from him, and he was unashamed of his arousal. But then, the night around him eliminated all but the faintest of light, from the adjacent room. One gloved, agile hand pulled the button free from his trousers and slipped inside, and he stroked himself to the sound of his priest slowly coming undone.

After a minute or two he made himself stop, breathing hard and beaded in sweat. He licked his lips, feeling his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth, and reached for the doorknob to turn it. It was locked.

*******

"Please, Michael, do not be afraid. I want you to do it. Please."

Locha was standing now, straddling Father Keogh's knees. She was holding one of his hands in her own, showing him what she wanted him to do.

Father Keogh looked wretched, his shirt wrinkled, his hair wet and disheveled. She had rendered him weak with lust, as she was instructed, but she could feel herself in the same state, quite unable to believe that the man in front of her was real.

As she had asked, and almost without guidance, Michael reached out and touched her, petted and stroked the soaking soft skin. Just this much nearly cost Locha her balance, her mind; she took the priest in hand again and inched herself forward until his nose tickled her belly. Then, slowly, ever so slowly, holding herself steady with one hand on his shoulder, she lowered herself downwards, until she was filled with him.

The priest bucked under her, crying out again in that same choking scream. "Oh! Oh, my god, my god, Locha!"

The door rattled in its frame. Neither really noticed. Anacleto's fists pounded furiously against the solid wood, and Locha began to rock her hips up and down, forwards and backwards. Father Keogh matched her, bucking wildly, and the chair's feet and Anacleto's hands pounded, pounded.

Locha threw her head back, tossing her hair, the hand not supporting her position on the chair coaxing herself closer and closer to climax. The priest was holding her close with one hand at her back, another on her thigh. She could feel his body, his nerves tightening, and thought a little wickedly to herself that she should have known he wouldn't last long.

The noise at the door suddenly ceased. Locha smiled down at Michael and kissed him deeply, even laughing a little into his open mouth. Father Keogh could say little else but her name, over and over again, in breathless adulation. He was very close.

She pressed her pale cheek to his, rolling her hips faster. Her arms were wrapped around his neck, his hands were buried in the flesh of her back-

The door exploded. Pieces of it flew very close to the two bodies wrapped around one another, and in surprise they were toppled.

Father Keogh cried out, this time more from pain than pleasure, pushing the chair away from himself and Locha. When he sat up, the first thing he noticed was the remnants of his door; where the knob had been, there was a jagged hole, smoldering.

Beyond the door stood Anacleto, incensed, sweating, and clutching a smoking pistol.

He crossed the room in three long strides, kicking bits of wood out of his path, and grabbed Locha by the hair. She shrieked as he pulled her mercilessly to one side, her feet kicking out at his ankles, fingernails clawing at his gloved hand. Only when he had her sufficiently out of the way did he let go. She spat at his feet.

Father Keogh lay prostrate and utterly exposed. He was completely naked save for his socks, a fact which made Anacleto laugh.

His eyes inspected every inch of his priest, unabashedly, twinkling with what was probably amusement. And he felt the Father's eyes on him, too, less intentional but inevitably noticing his heightened arousal. Anacleto caught his eye, and winked.

"What do you think, Father? My turn now, yes?"

The bandit laughed again at the horror his suggestion brought upon Michael's face as he knelt, deftly unbuttoning his shirt and tugging the scarf from around his neck. The latter he held in his hand for a moment, studying it. Then he dropped it in his lap, pulling his gloves off and tossing them over his shoulder.

"Locha, darling," he said, fixing the girl with an authoritative stare, "would you be so kind as to take this"-he threw the scarf at her-"and secure the good priest's hands for me? And since you had to be so greedy and lock me out, I'm going to ask you to make sure he is quite completely tied down. You'll need to watch him."

Without a word, she did this, pulling the priest's arms above his head and tying his wrists together tightly. Her pretty face was a mask. Her eyes blazed.

"Please, Anacleto, stop this! This is-this is-I cannot permit you to-"

Anacleto slapped Michael hard, across the face. "Quiet please."

He swung his long legs across the Father's torso, so he was sitting in the priest's lap, and straddling him. He leaned forward, rocking his hips ever so slightly, and moaned quietly, catching Father Keogh's gasp in his open mouth.

"Mmm. I was hoping I would get here in time. I'm afraid Locha got a little bit carried away, naughty girl." He rocked forward again, and felt the priest shudder.

"P-p-please! You can't-ah-you can't-"

"Hold his wrists, Locha dear, he's squirming."

Anacleto wriggled his hips until Michael was forced to part his knees, for fear of coming apart right then. He feared he would; he feared that that was what the bandit wanted.

Anacleto lowered his mouth to Michael's neck, pulling a bit of flesh between his lips to taste, sucking until the skin bruised a dark scarlet. The priest moaned, actually lifting his hips up to meet Malo's, sliding his bare skin against the leather, feeling himself so close to that place which Anacleto had hoped Locha hadn't taken him.

Malo dotted kisses along the underside of Father Keogh's jaw, panting now, bucking more desperately, the hand not supporting himself over the other man fumbling clumsily at his trousers.

Above them, Locha held the priest's hands steady in their bonds, watching Michael's face as Anacleto wrestled free of those ridiculous leather pants and lowered himself fully on top of the Father, one hand disappearing between them. All three of them were sweating, though the room was cool. Anacleto's hair had fallen in front of his eyes, and stuck to his drenched forehead. Lowering his head again to kiss the pale flesh of the priest's neck, the bandit pushed one finger into Michael, slowly.

Father Keogh's neck and back arched, and he moaned helplessly. He felt Anacleto's fingers, two now, spreading him open, working him over until his muscles became nothing, his legs spread wide and trembling.

When the bandit offered his fingers to the priest, Michael opened his mouth to them. When Anacleto aligned himself to enter him at last, Father Keogh groaned deeply, and when the moment came his teeth latched onto Malo's fingers without warning. Anacleto himself gasped, fully inside Michael now and pawing at him like a heavy beast, no longer the quick and clever keeper of the cats, rendered dumb.

He didn't even wait for a moment before thrusting hard into the priest a second time, and again, and again, desperate, and unaware that Locha could no longer hold Michael still, that every time he pushed forward this drove Father Keogh's head into her lap.

"Anacleto! Anacleto!" Father Keogh pushed himself upwards, and grabbed the bandit's neck with one hand, trying to pull him closer. The bandit let him, tumbling their bodies together in a sweating heap, pressing his lips not to his priest's mouth, but to his ear. It was a tender gesture, swept away by the sudden gust of breath Malo gave when Michael's hand dug deeply into the back of his thigh.

His fingernails bit, and Anacleto howled, a most inhuman, most urgent sudden cry. Father Keogh felt the bandit's body shudder, the muscles under his hands clench; then Malo's hand found him again, squeezing harder, until Michael felt his own body seize.

He was suddenly filled completely with a tremendous heat. Then Anacleto disappeared, for a moment, before Father Keogh realized where he'd gone. He sat up, arms trembling, only partially aware of Locha behind him.

Malo's dark head was buried in the good priest's lap, his bright pink tongue and chiseled lips making quick, deferential work of the mess the two of them had made. He looked up at Father Keogh once, licking his lips, an utterly supercilious smirk playing across that insufferable mouth. He winked at Locha, raising himself up onto his knees.

He kissed the priest, deeply. Michael moaned, quietly, feeling himself twitch slightly with renewed desire.

When Anacleto withdrew, he paused at Father Keogh's ear. The little pink tip of his tongue flickered out, playing coyly at the dark circle in the center. He could feel the priest panting heavily against his cheek.

"Well now," he crooned, his own breath not quite steady. "was that quite enough for you, dear Father? You've stopped your prayers." Over the priest's shoulder, he could see Locha, flushed pink, her eyes sparkling. Her pretty lips were parted. He had torn her away unfinished.

Father Keogh stared hard at the bandit, looking utterly intemperate. But then, to Anacleto's surprise, a small, knowing expression of triumph broke his mask of exhaustion. He dropped his hand.

Then he whispered, through a shark-like smile, "A."

***********


End file.
